


Constrict

by AutisticWriter



Series: Mental Illness Headcanons [52]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gustav Lives, Alternate Universe - Monty Lives, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Crying, Dark, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gang Rape, Heavy Angst, Hugs, Hypersexuality, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Recovery, Self-Harm, Sex Repulsion, Snakes, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Two Shot, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Fifteen years ago, Monty Montgomery went through something terrible. But with the help of Gustav and Jacquelyn, he heads down the long road to recovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark and potentially triggering story, so please read the tags and don't read if you think this story might trigger you.

It was fifteen years ago. But despite this length of time, the memories have not faded. Sometimes, Monty wonders if he will ever forget those awful memories. But he knows they will probably be with him until the day he dies.

The memories attack him often, striking Monty when he is low or weak or scared, or when he is asleep, or at totally random moments. But no matter when or why, they are always awful.

As with many nights, memories attack him in his sleep, turning pleasant dreams into terrible nightmares. He rolls over in his sleep, eyelids flickering as he enters REM sleep, and the memories behind, playing a nightmare behind his eyelids as though it were a movie. And he may have experienced these nightmares hundreds of times in the fifteen years since… since it happened, but they never seem to get less terrifying.

There is a reason why he prefers to spend his nights in the Reptile Room, reading books about snakes, than in bed trying to sleep. The reason being that he hates the nightmares, and the only way to escape them being to stay awake. Unfortunately, however, one cannot stay awake forever.

\---

He has little recollection of the immediate aftermath. Even the nightmares and flashbacks don’t focus on it, suggesting his brain completely wiped the memories. Or perhaps he was just in such a state that his brain stopped recording the memories. Either way, he only learned of the aftermath a few days after he was rescued, when he lay in a hospital bed, Gustav, Jacquelyn and a police officer stood around his bed.

Monty knew what happened to him, but how he got from the back of that van to a hospital bed was beyond him. To be honest, he was so drugged up on painkillers and sedatives that he was not aware of the majority of things. All he knew was he was captured and drugged and…

And he was subjected to hell for an unknown amount of time, before he was knocked unconscious by a violent blow to the head. When he awoke, he was in hospital. He lay in bed, still aching all over despite the painkillers. His skin felt tight across his forehead, and Monty wondered if he had stitches. There was also a fair bit of pain in his genitals and anus, but Monty really didn’t want to think about that.

A nurse entered the room, carrying a medical chart. She walked over to Monty and smiled. When she spoke, her tone was bright; he normally would have found that patronising, but Monty didn’t mind right now. “Hello, Dr Montgomery. I see you’re awake.”

Monty tried his best to smile. She went through normal medical checks, shining a light into his eyes and taking his pulse, and Monty watched her hands. She changed the dressing on his forehead and changed his catheter bag, and Monty felt a bit sick when he realised that he had a tube right up his urethra. After what he had been through, someone touching his genitals was a terrifying thought.

He kept spacing out, and must have done when the nurse was finishing her checks, because the next time he came back into focus, she had gone. He looked at Gustav, Jacquelyn and the police officer, wondering why his vision still distorted when he moved his head.

“How… how did I get here?” he stammered, tongue floppy from the anaesthetic.

“Do you not remember?” Jacquelyn said. When he looked at her, Monty saw her eyes were bloodshot and framed with bags. Gustav was much the same. When was the last time they both slept?

Monty was about to shake his head, but he didn’t want to make himself dizzy. So he just said, “No.”

It was up to Gustav, Jacquelyn and the police officer to fill him in. and Monty lay in bed and listened to the story, watching Gustav and Jacquelyn look more and more anxious, whilst the policeman wore an expression that suggested he had been through many situations like this.

Their account was rough and heavily abridged, but Monty was not bothered. After all, his brain hurt and he wasn’t particularly interested in thinking about everything that happened to him.

Even now, he thinks that was understandable reaction. Because when you are drugged and abducted and gang raped by a group of dangerous people in the back of a van, the last thing you want to do is think more about it. Monty just wanted to push the memories to the back of his mind; fifteen years later, he still shares that sentiment.

Basically, after Monty was kicked in the head, he lost consciousness. The doctors believed that Monty was unconscious for three hours, in which time, the rapists repeatedly assaulted his unconscious body.

At this point during the account, Monty started to feel very sick. He closed his eyes, wondering if he was going to vomit or cry. His heart raced and his breathing shuddered, his brain creating images of what this all might have looked like. But he didn’t want to think about it.

“Monty?” Jacquelyn said softly. “Do you want us to stop?”

He forced his eyes open, staring at the people stood at the end of his bed. “No. Carry on. Please.”

It was obvious that no one believed him. But they continued to tell him about the missing gap in his memory.

During the time Monty was unconscious, bleeding from the wound to his forehead, Gustav and Jacquelyn had called the police and had been joined by numerous other VFD agents at the party on the search for Monty.

“When we left you, we were searching for your glass,” Gustav explained, watching Monty tremble on the bed. “We believed your drink had been spiked.”

“And it had,” Jacquelyn said. “A simple analysis of the leftover sherry in the glass showed it had been spiked with a strong dose of ketamine, a powerful sedative. Which was when we found you had vanished.”

They both exchanged a glance, and, this time, Monty didn’t want to know what they were thinking. Panicking, Gustav and Jacquelyn enlisted help and searched the mansion and grounds, but Monty wasn’t found. So the police were called and a search was set out. Within an hour, Monty was found.

Still unconscious, he was lying naked in the back of a van, covered in blood and semen. The DNA tests later showed that four people raped him, but none of them were found. They got away.

“An ambulance was called and you were taken to hospital,” the police officer said, completing the horrifying story. “You had a check-up and rape kits completed, and went in for minor surgery. Since then, you have been recovering in bed.”

“I’m so sorry, Monty,” Jacquelyn said. Gustav put his arm around her.

“I’m also very sorry for what happened to you, Dr Montgomery,” the police officer said. “But I am certain we will catch the people who hurt you and bring them to justice.”

Monty knew that they wouldn’t catch them. To be honest, he didn’t care. It wouldn’t take away his trauma and injuries. He just wanted to go home.

\---

Only a few days after… it, Monty had a nightmare; it must have been his sixth nightmare in as many nights. He was finally in bed, having been coaxed out of the Reptile Room by Gustav, who insisted he actually slept in his bed.

“You sleep deprivation is making things worse, Monty,” Gustav said. He didn’t elaborate, but they both know the ‘things’ that were being made worse were the moments of intense fear that hit Monty at random moments and the flashbacks, both signs of the disorder he was apparently developing.

“It is through no fault of my own that I can’t sleep,” Monty said. “Even when I do go to bed, I am always too anxious to sleep. I might as well be doing important work on my reptiles.”

Gustav looked at him. “Monty, you have been through trauma. I think the last thing on your mind should be your work.”

“You don’t understand,” Monty said, sighing. “I want to distract myself. My work helps. It really does.”

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. Then Gustav sighed and nodded. “I think I do understand. If your research helps, then do it. But you need sleep. I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Very well,” Monty said. By this point, they were outside Monty’s bedroom. “Goodnight, Gustav.”

Gustav smiled sadly. “Goodnight.”

He went into his bedroom and got dressed into his pyjamas. Monty crawled into bed and lay on his back, staring up into the darkness. He was so tired, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. But despite his fear and apprehension, he fell asleep.

And the nightmares began.

_The music was loud and jovial, and Monty nodded his head to the music as he sipped from a glass of sherry and ice. He watched couples dance on the dance floor of the beautiful ballroom in the Baudelaire mansion; Beatrice and Bertrand were right in the middle, dancing what looked to be a slightly odd interpretation of the Charleston. He also spotted Josephine trying to dance with a rather drunk, clumsy Ike, whilst Larry wandered around offering people drinks. It was a relief to see Larry wasn’t carrying any messages, because it was nice to have an occasional VFD meet up that didn’t turn confusing and dramatic._

_He sipped his drink again, wondering what type of sherry this was, as it tasted a bit strange. But he shrugged it off, turning back to Gustav and Jacquelyn, who chattered furtively by this side. His assistant and his partner (the word partner here is being used to covey a platonic, professional relationship) often seemed furtive, and Monty wondered what sort of life Gustav led when he wasn’t working as Monty’s assistant._

_As Monty looked at them, his vision distorted, going black around the edges whilst orange sparkles flickered across his view of the room. Monty blinked, and it disappeared. Confused, he stepped forwards to ask Gustav and Jacquelyn for their advise, but the room spun and he lurched to the side. Monty stumbled and collided with Jacques Snicket, who, thankfully, was strong enough to not fall over._

_“Careful, Dr Montgomery,” he said, holding Monty’s arm to keep him upright._

_The dizziness was subsiding, but Monty still felt very unsteady on his feet._

_“Are you okay, Monty?” Gustav said, putting a hand on Monty’s shoulder. Monty smiled; it always brought a smile to his face when Gustav touched him._

_He nodded and his vision flickered again. “Y-Yes, Gustav. I just feel a bit giddy. I suppose it’s the sherry.”_

_Gustav and Jacquelyn smiled, but they exchanged one of their Significant Looks, and Monty wished he could read minds. Monty put his nearly-empty glass on a tray carried by a passing waiter, and smiled._

_“I think I should take some fresh air,” he said. “Gustav? Jacquelyn? Care to join me?”_

_But Gustav and Jacquelyn were preoccupied, looking at the tray being carried away. They both wore determined frowns, and he again wished for a mind-reading skill._

_Gustav turned his head. “Would you wait a few minutes, and then we can come?”_

_Monty nodded, watching them walk away and follow after the waiter but despite his nodded promise, he didn’t want to wait for an unknown amount of time for Gustav and Jacquelyn to return from another thing they left him out of, and he sighed. And, as another wave of dizziness crashed over him, Monty wandered out of the ballroom._

_He aimed for the garden, but struggled to find it. To tell the truth, he got lost following the winding corridors of the Baudelaire mansion, wandering past door after door on his search for the gardens. As he walked, the dizziness got worse, his knees weakening and even buckling a few times. His vision flickered and blurred, and the perfectly level floor seemed to rock and sway beneath his feet. Monty grimaced, trying to remember how much he drank._

_“Hello, there,” came a sudden voice._

_Monty jumped and looked up from the swaying floor, and saw a man stood in front of him. He had wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, and gave Monty a friendly, if concerned, smile._

_“Hello,” Monty said, realising his voice was slurred. “What c-can I do for you?”_

_“Nothing,” the man said, still smiling. “I notice, however, that you probably need assistance. You look rather unwell.”_

_“Well, I suppose I feel a bit… dizzy,” Monty said, placing a hand on the wall for balance._

_The man stepped closer and put his hand on Monty’s shoulder, a comforting smile on his face. “You look close to fainting. Come with me; I think I can help you.”_

_“Okay,” Monty said, his vision crackling._

_He let the man slip an arm around his waist and lead him down another corridor. They climbed a flight of stairs, Monty’s poorly coordinated legs struggling with each step. It was almost like his body was shutting down. He thought about asking the man for his name, but when he opened his mouth his tongue was too floppy and his brain too foggy to say it._

_“Nearly there,” the man said, his hand slipping down to Monty’s hip._

_Monty smiled, grateful for the help. The man took him into a room that must have been a guest bedroom, although it was hard to focus his blurry vision on anything._

_“Here, just stay in bed and have a nice rest, and I’m sure you will feel better soon,” the man said, helping Monty sit on the bed._

_Movement was getting very difficult, his limbs feeling as though they had weights strapped to them. His vision faded in and out of focus, and the room span even though they were no longer moving. So it was fair when part of Monty believed that it would take more than a rest to help him._

_But he still smiled and mumbled, “Th-Thank you.”_

_And the man turned and walked away… but when he reached the door, he didn’t walk through the doorway. Instead, he closed the door and turned the key in the lock, shutting them both inside._

_Monty’s bleary eyes widened, watching the man cross the room. He sat beside Monty and put a hand on his thigh, an oddly intimate gesture. But before Monty could attempt to speak, he kissed him._

_But that was not like any sort of kiss Monty knew; it was rough and forceful, and Monty tried to flinch backwards only to find a hand on the back of his head, forcing him to continue being kissed._

_The man pulled away and smiled, but the smile now looked smug and sinister. Monty gulped, wanting to run but not knowing how to move. And then the man did two things that shocked and terrified Monty…_

_One: he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialled someone. His hand squeezing Monty’s thigh, he told the person on the other end of the line, “I have one.”_

_And two: he removed a bottle and a cloth from his pockets and covered the cloth in liquid, which appeared to be chloroform. And he turned and clamped the cloth over Monty’s nose and mouth. He spluttered and struggled and, unlike in the movies, it took nearly thirty seconds for the drug to take effect. And rather than falling into immediately unconsciousness, Monty found himself slowly drifting away, his vision clouding as he fell onto his back. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the man’s smile, and hands moving to unbuckle his belt…_

Monty awoke with a jolt, tears prickling his eyes as he gasped for breath. The dream still echoed around his mind as he lay in bed, covered in sweat. He groaned and rolled over, a few tears running down his face.

He may have had several of these awful dreams now, but they never seemed to get less terrifying. His heart pounded against his ribs, panic rippling through his body. But something was different. Monty realised it with a wave of dread: he had an erection.

Why was he aroused? Why did that terrifying nightmare arouse him? But he couldn’t ignore it, so he knew he needed to do something about it.

Tears still running down his face, Monty slipped his hand into his underpants and masturbated. Despite his attempts to make them go away, memories of the rape and his nightmare flickered through his mind, and he thought about them as he moved his hand. When he climaxed, ejaculating over his hand, he felt so dirty. He cried harder.

Monty went and showered, hating himself. He finally fell asleep at 3am, sat up in bed with the light still on.

\---

Monty learned that some phrases or places or smells triggered flashbacks in him. The flashbacks were arguably worse than the nightmares, because they often came with little warning.

He had heard of flashbacks in the same way he had heard of most symptoms of PTSD: through semi-realistic portrayals of them in books and the movies. But after he got his first two nightmares, Monty had got up in the middle of the night and scoured the internet, and found a detailed medical journal about post-traumatic stress disorder. He read about nightmares (noting that his were a lot like the journal described), he read about mood swings and panic attacks and insomnia, and he read about flashbacks. So Monty read and learned exactly what they were

So when he got his first flashback three days after… it, Monty knew exactly what was happening to him. But it did not change how terrifying the experience was. They were much rarer than the nightmares, and by approximately two weeks since his nightmare began, Monty had experienced three of them, compared to the dozen nightmares.

A couple of weeks after the… incident, Monty had a check up with his doctor. The meeting was humiliating, with Monty having to endure graphic discussions of his injuries. The stitches in his forehead and anus dissolved a day or so ago, and the doctor had to check that the wounds had healed properly. Having his forehead examined was fine, but his anus was awful. As Monty pulled his pants up and sat back in the chair, his doctor smiled and said his injuries were perfectly healed, and his STD tests had come back clear. Which was something, at least.

After this was all finished, his doctor looked at him and said that he thought Monty should go to therapy. It turned out that his doctor also thought PTSD was highly likely to be what was happening to him. So he referred Monty to a therapist, scheduling a session for the next day.

Which was how Monty found himself sat beside Gustav in a waiting room outside the office of a therapist by the name of Jane, bouncing his leg and trying to read a magazine. At least, until he learned a new trigger in a totally random way.

“Who’s next?” the medical secretary said, looking around the full waiting room as a patient exited the room of a different therapist.

And that was it.

Panic overwhelmed him and Monty wasn’t in the waiting room anymore. He was lost in memories.

_All he felt was pain. And confusion. And outright terror. He knew he wasn’t on that bed anymore, but he had no idea where he was._

_He opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy, and realised that he was inside a van. Four people loomed over him, including the man who he met at the party. It was then that Monty realised that he was naked._

_He was so scared, but he could barely move, his limbs heavy and his brain foggy. But the pain and the fear were obvious._

_“Ah, he’s awake,” a man said. “Ready for round three?”_

_Another man was masturbating, his eyes boring into Monty’s. “You know I am.”_

_The single woman stared at Monty, licking her lips. “Get ready.”_

_And the man who Monty knew tricked him walked forwards and kneeled down, unzipping his trousers. And then he kneeled right next to Monty’s head, grabbed his hair and forced his erect penis into Monty’s mouth._

_He gagged and spluttered, trying to move away but finding it impossible. The man forced his penis in so far Monty started to gag, gagging every time he thrust his hips. His lips tore and pain ripped in the back of his throat, and he wondered how he didn’t vomit. Tears dribbled from his eyes and he retched, feeling even worse when he realised that he was getting hard. When the man ejaculated, the hot stickiness shot down his throat and Monty had no choice but to swallow it. It was disgusting. It was horrible. It was… terrifying._

_And then the man was pulling out and groped Monty’s chest for no apparent reason, smiling down at him._

_“Right then,” he said, and the tone of his voice made Monty want to scream. “Who’s next?”_

Monty gasped, blinking slowly, and realised that none of that was happening. Of course it happened in the past, but it wasn’t happening right now. Because right now, all he was doing was sitting in the waiting room at a therapists’ office, waiting to be seen for a psychiatric examination.

Gustav’s hands were on his shoulders; he must have been shaking Monty in a futile attempt to get his attention. Monty stared at him, heart racing, eyes stinging with barely suppressed tears and raging panic twisting in the pit of his stomach. He exhaled slowly, to calm down.

“Monty?” Gustav said, voice soft yet firm. “What happened?”

Monty shrugged, noticing that everyone else in the waiting room was looking at him and wishing they would stop it. If there was one thing he wanted less than having a flashback in public, it was a group of total strangers watching him having a flashback in public. What did he even look like whilst his brain was forcing him to relive memories? Did he scream? Did he cry? Or did he just sit there, eyes blank, expression vacant as a movie, unseen by everyone else, played before his eyes?

“O-One of those flashbacks,” Monty said.

Gustav knew a little about the flashbacks, having been the one who found Monty after the first one. He simply nodded his head, also conscious of how everyone was looking at them. “Would you like to go outside?”

Monty looked at the other patients out of the corner of his eye. He raised his hand to his face and found it shaking, but ignored this and twisted one of the ends of his moustache with his trembling fingers. He nodded in return. “Yes, I think that is a good idea.”

So Monty stood up, his legs wobbling slightly, and he and Gustav headed outside. Monty leaned his back against the brick wall and groaned, resting his head in his hands. “I hate this, Gustav.”

“I know you do,” Gustav said. He looked through the window every few seconds, looking out for Monty’s new therapist. “Which is why you really need to see your therapist.”

“I know that. I just couldn’t stay in there with everyone staring at me,” Monty said, exhaling slowly.

Gustav patted his shoulder. “I understand.”

Soon, Monty’s therapist showed herself and Gustav led him back inside, hurrying past the other patients. They went into her office, a small yet cosy room filled with two plump couches and a lot of candles.

“Hello,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Jane.”

Monty smiled and shook her hand. “Hello.”

And although he didn’t want to do therapy, it seemed that he had found a therapist he would get along with. And as long as Gustav stayed by his side, Monty knew he would be okay.

\---

Ever since the night he awoke from a nightmare with an erection, Monty had been feeling rather more… aroused than normal. Of course, he has a libido like the majority of people, but it had never been like this before. He went from someone who masturbated every few days, only had a sexual dream once in a while and rarely actually wanted to have sex with someone, to a person who masturbated three or four times a day, really wanted to have sex and had sexual dreams that often tied into his nightmares almost every night. It was very confusing… and disturbing.

One evening, Monty was incredibly aroused, a tent in the front of his trousers as he wandered through the house, looking for Gustav. He loved Gustav deeply and hoped Gustav might return his feelings. Because if he did, then Monty might have been able to have sex with him. He would love to have sex with Gustav.

He located Gustav in the kitchen and smiled at him as he said, “Hello, Gustav.”

He slid onto a chair before Gustav could see his groin, crossing his legs. Gustav looked up from his bowl of cereal, a book open on the table beside it.

“Hello, Monty. How are you feeling?”

Monty shrugged, not wanting to tell Gustav about how aroused he had been feeling lately. “All right, I suppose. Um, Gustav… you know how you have been my assistant several years now? Well, I was wondering if you would consider… upgrading our relationship?”

Gustav looked at him, and frowned. “Monty, I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“What?!” Monty spluttered, but his groin throbbed and his palms became coated with sweat. “What are you t-talking about?”

“Well, that is why you’re here, is it not?” Gustav said. “I know how you feel about me, Monty. To be honest, I reciprocate those feelings. But I don’t know if you are in the right frame of mind for a relationship right now. And, regardless, I am not having sex with you.”

Monty stared at Gustav. How did he know all of that? It was at times like this when it became obvious that Gustav was more than just his assistant. But despite his anxiety about Gustav working him out, he couldn’t help but smile. Gustav reciprocated his feelings. Gustav loved him! He nearly masturbated right there from the rush of adrenaline that made his erection throb, but he simply bit back a whimper.

“You love me too?”

Gustav nodded, but there was sadness in his eyes. “I do.”

“But… you don’t want to be in a relationship with me?”

Gustav sighed. “Monty, I would love to be in a relationship with you. But you are not in the right place for it.”

“Why not?” Monty said, raising his voice.

“Because little over two weeks ago, you were ga—”

“Don’t say it!” Monty cried.

He sat very still, hands clenched into fists, his erection rubbing against the inside of his underpants.

“Monty…” Gustav said. He sounded like he was in pain.

“Please, Gustav, don’t write this off as lust or a strange side effect of whatever is happening to me,” Monty said, his voice quivering. “I really have loved you for years. My love for you is genuine. I just have…” he sighed, embarrassed to even think it. “I am just rather… obsessed with sex at the moment but I do love you, regardless of my overactive libido.” His eyes stung with tears. “Please.”

Gustav looked at Monty, his expression a complete mix of emotions. “I do understand, Monty, believe me when I say I do. But I am just so worried that a relationship between us would make you worse.”

“I know that,” Monty said, trying to keep his voice soft. “And I’m thankful every single day that I have someone as wonderful as you looking out for me. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pester you about this. I just don’t know what is wrong with me.”

Gustav smiled, but his smile mainly consisted of frustration and sadness. “Monty, there are so many things wrong with you. Which is exactly why I don’t think we should be in a relationship. And I think you need to bring this sexual problem up with your therapist. She might be able to shine a light on what is happening.”

“Fine, I will,” Monty said, exhaling slowly. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?”

“Of course not,” Gustav said. “Just because I do not wish to date you at this moment in time doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I care about you, Monty, and you need support right now. Besides,” Gustav smiled. “You still need an assistant. And maybe, one day, when you are in a better place, we might even start a relationship.”

Monty’s eyes stung and he willed himself not to cry. But then his erection throbbed and Monty found himself fighting back a moan. Instead, he reached across the table and gave Gustav’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Gustav.”

Ten minutes later, Monty was in the bathroom. He pulled down his underpants and frantically stroked his erection, thinking about Gustav’s smile and Gustav’s words and the idea of having gentle, loving sex with him, and just Gustav…

He came hard all over his hand, but the sight his semen covering his skin made his already fast pulse rate increase rapidly. Monty gasped, moving to the basin to clean his hand, but it was too late. As he turned on the faucet, his brain pulled him into a flashback.

_Flat on his back, so heavily drugged it was even difficult to breathe, Monty’s vision flickered in and out of focus. His heart was slow thanks to the drugs, but adrenaline still raced through him. His mouth hurt, his lips cracked, the back of this throat sore, and hideous pain shot through his buttocks and anus, his buttocks and the backs of his thighs coated in his blood and something he desperately tried to block from memory. He had an erection, yet his legs, stomach and genitals were covered in his semen. Did he ejaculate when he was unconscious? What did they do to him when he was unconscious?_

_So many thoughts ran through Monty’s foggy brain, but his eyes were focused on one thing: the woman. Her smile was terrifying as she kneeled beside him, naked except for a flimsy jacket and high-heeled shoes. She caressed his skin with cold hands, digging her fingernails in so hard it hurt, leaving marks in his skin. And she straddled Monty and kissed him hard, jerking his erection with her hand as her tongue invaded his mouth. He could hear the others leering and making comments about his body as they stood around them, but Monty tried to block their voices out. He tried to block everything out. But it was impossible._

_The stimulation was painful, but arousal still flowed through him. Monty hated himself. How could he be getting aroused when he was being gang raped?_

_“Ready, my darling?” she whispered, stroking his face as she spoke in a tone that made him want to scream._

_And as the other rapists laughed, she lowered her hips and forced Monty inside of her. She felt so warm and the way she rocked her hips sent pleasure so strong through his body that Monty almost ejaculated. But he also nearly vomited and his eyes filled with tears, horrified by what was happening to him and also confused by how it was possible to feel so aroused and so terrified at the same time._

_“Tell me when you’re going to come,” the woman snarled, digging her nails into his hips, scratching him and sending trails of blood trickling across his skin. “Tell me or I’ll stab the heel of my shoe into your eye.”_

_Monty closed his eyes reflexively, but he managed a slight nod of his head. He knew full well what she was capable of and was too terrified to disobey._

_“Good choice.”_

_Soon, despite his fear and disgust and heavily drugged state, Monty knew he was close to having an orgasm. So he managed a nod of his head and she moved off of him, grasping his erection again and jerking it so hard it felt like he was getting friction burns. And when Monty came with a disgusted cry, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes she made it so he came all over his stomach. He saw his semen, white and fresh, and she wiped the remnants on her hand across his arm._

_Monty sobbed openly and they all mocked him, and soon his stomach was churning and he was choking on his own vomit, which consisted largely of spiked sherry and semen. He turned his head and coughed it up as best as he could, and that was when the first man, the one who obviously drugged him at the party and abducted him, stepped forwards._

_“You disgusting fuck,” he said, his voice disturbingly calm. And the last thing Monty saw was a hard leather boot flying towards his face, before it kicked him with a horrible thud and everything went black._

Falling out of the flashback, Monty gasped, trying to calm his breathing; his breaths were ragged and shallow, and Monty hoped he wasn’t going to hyperventilate. His senses started to focus. Monty saw steam and felt it damping his hair and he wondered where it was coming from… and then pain struck him.

His hands were still under the water, which now ran so hot it was producing thick steam. Monty yelped at the excruciating pain, pulling his hands out of the scalding water. He groaned, staring down at his hands and finding his skin shiny and bright red. It disturbed Monty to know just how vacant he was during these flashbacks.

But as bright, red-hot pain throbbed in his burned hands, Monty realised something. It was almost soothing him, forcing him to push the anxiety and memories of the flashback to the back of his mind as his body overloaded with pain. So Monty didn’t hurry to run his hands under cold water to numb the pain.

He let the scalds get worse by refusing to give himself first aid. He let himself suffer. But it was worth it to make the flashback go away. And he probably deserved the pain anyway.

Monty eventually fell asleep on the bathroom floor, leaning back against the door. When he awoke, his hands shone with first degree buns, but it had been his first night without a nightmare since… it.

The pain was definitely worth it.

\---

On one of his regular visits to the therapist, Jane, a very embarrassed Monty brought up the subject of his overactive libido (Gustav put him up to it, on the condition that Monty went into the meeting alone).

Jane and Monty went through their normal routine, talking about the past few days and his anxiety and the nightmares and how she thought it was certain that he would soon be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Monty spent most of the session staring at the carpet, thinking about the snakes in his reptile room and how his herpetology was probably the only thing keeping him going.

Soon, their meeting took its usual depressing tone. Jane looked at him over the top of her glasses and asked, “Have you felt any suicidal thoughts or planned a suicide attempt?”

Monty shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I have felt horrible and anxious and various levels of self-hatred, but I have never felt suicidal.” He chuckled weakly, but he was telling the truth; Monty may have had a dreadful time in the last few weeks, but he never once felt like taking his own life. “I guess that’s something.”

Jane smiled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. What about self harm?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you injured yourself deliberately?”

Monty stared down at his hands, which still had a shiny tinge to them after scalding himself the other day. Of course, he didn’t deliberately cause the burns, but he refused to do first aid afterwards. Did that count as self harm? In the end, he shook his head.

“No.”

“That’s good,” Jane said. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which ticked loudly and was shaped like a frog. “Our session is almost over. Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

It was time to talk about what he and Gustav discussed.

“There is, actually,” he said. Very glad that Gustav had stayed in the waiting room, he twisted the ends of his moustache and mumbled, “Um… is it normal to feel very sexually aroused after an… experience like mine.”

Jane looked at him, tilting her head to the side. Then she smiled sympathetically, and Monty held his breath. “Well, yes, actually, it can be.”

“Really?” Monty said, his eyes widening slightly.

She nodded. “Yes, really. It’s more common to experience sex repulsion after rape or sexual assault, in which the person gets extremely distressed and triggered by sex, arousal or sexual situations. But there is another way people can swing in these sorts of situations. It is called hypersexuality.”

“Hypersexuality?” Monty repeated. It was amazing, really, that he could be a highly intelligent man who was groundbreaking in the world of herpetology, and not know things. In a way, it was quite refreshing to be being enlightened by someone else.

“Yes. It means the person experiences a very high libido, frequent sexually intrusive thoughts, or gets addicted to sex or compulsively masturbates. It can be extremely distressing and leave the person feeling dirty.” She leaned forwards in her seat, looking at Monty. “Is there a reason why you ask?”

Monty sighed. “Yes. I think I might be hypersexual. My libido is through the roof and I keep thinking about sex. I masturbate all the time.” He looked at her, and his voice took on a desperate, pleading tone that made him sound weak and pathetic. “Please tell me there is a way to cure me of this.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Monty,” Jane said, and Monty knew this wasn’t going to be good. “But just like the rest of your brain’s responses to your trauma, there is little we can do about it. Regular therapy is all I can offer you, and, though it will probably have positive effects, they will be slow and may never completely solve your problem. I’m sorry.”

Monty groaned, closing his eyes for a few seconds. But when he opened them, he stared at Jane. She was a very attractive woman. And she really seemed to care about him, enquiring about Monty and the progress he was making. And even though he knew this was just the hypersexuality thing she literally just told him about, Monty found himself imagining what it would be like to have sex with her. He felt his underpants getting tight and he crossed his legs, gritting his jaw. If Jane noticed, she didn’t tell him about it.

He forced himself to smile. “I understand. And there is no need to apologise. This isn’t your fault. I just wish it could be easy.”

“Trust me, Monty,” Jane said, sighing. “So do I.”

After the session was over, Monty pushed past Gustav in the waiting room and rushed into the bathroom. He shut himself into a stall and stroked himself, stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth so no one would hear him, and his thoughts focused on Jane, of her smile and how she was such a caring woman and a very good therapist. But as he masturbated, hand jerking up and down his erection, the friction made his sensitive skin hurt. And that reminded him of it… enough to bring tears to his eyes. But it wasn’t enough to stop him masturbating, and he sobbed as he came.

He jumped when someone knocked on the cubical door.

“Monty?”

It was Gustav.

“Y-Yes?” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t give away the fact he was crying.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, Gustav, just using the toilet,” Monty said. “I’ll be with you soon.”

Even though they couldn’t see each other, he knew Gustav knew he was lying. But Gustav said nothing, and Monty breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, hoping it would not be obvious that he had been crying.

He actually used the toilet and then opened the cubical door, and saw Gustav leaning against the basins. Monty smiled as brightly as he could and washed his hands, running his hands under warm water and feeling the burns on the back of his hands stinging; he hoped Gustav wouldn’t notice and enquire about how he got the burns. Glancing up at the mirror, Monty saw his reflection; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair and his moustache sweaty and sticking to him, and the skin around his eyes was swollen from crying and roughly wiping his eyes. He looked dreadful.

“So, how was the session?” Gustav asked, watching Monty dry his hands on a paper towel (and barely hide a wince as the action stings his burned skin).

“It went rather well, actually,” he said. Monty threw the paper towel into the trashcan and he and Gustav continued their conversation as they walked though the building and out into the parking lot. “We talked about the usual things and nothing bad happened.”

“That’s good. Did you talk about anything else?”

Now in his truck, Monty flinched slightly as he started the engine and began to drive. But then he smiled weakly, eyes focused on the view out of the windscreen, and said, “No, nothing else.”

He was certain Gustav knew he was lying, but neither of them said anything else. They drove back to Monty’s house in silence.

\---

Two months after he was raped, the gang were still at large. In fact, Monty was certain they would never be found. However, there was something hopefully more positive on the horizon.

“Don’t forget, Monty,” Gustav said, wandering over to Monty in the Reptile Room. “The meeting at the Herpetological Society is tomorrow evening.”

Monty turned away from the cage of the Mamba de Mal, where he had been watching the venomous snake bite, kill and start to eat a small mouse. It was disgusting to watch, but also fascinating. He never failed to be amazed by the incredible things snakes could do.

He looked at Gustav, raising an eyebrow. “Of course, how could I forget?”

He hated many of his fellow herpetologists, mainly for their smug attitudes and tendency to mock his repetitive name, and he was certain they had a reason for always mocking him; after all, Monty had presented more new discoveries to the Society in the last few years than most of the other scientists put together. They were probably jealous of him. At least, that was what Gustav said.

So the next day, Monty and Gustav drove to the Herpetological Society in Monty’s truck, dressed in tuxedos and smart shoes that made Monty’s feet hurt. And although he usually enjoyed these trips to the Society, his usual anxiety (well, usual for the last two months) was heightening. He thought he hid this rather well, the only external sign of his fear being his extremely tight grip on the steering wheel, but of course Gustav noticed.

“Monty?” Gustav said, his voice soft. “Are you feeling all right?”

He glanced at Gustav out of the corner of his eye. “Not particularly, to be honest.” And although it made him feel weak, Monty added, “You won’t leave me alone tonight, will you, Gustav?”

“Of course not, Monty. I shall always be by your side.”

Monty smiled, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing. Even when he felt the most terrified, it was always easier to cope with Gustav by his side.

The meeting was basically normal. Monty was still on edge, but he made it through the several hours in a very crowded space without panicking or having some kind of flashback. And Gustav was by his side, putting his hand on Monty’s shoulder, and Monty smiled. But when the other scientists mocked his name, the usually annoying jokes hurt, and soon Monty just wanted to go home.

\---

Monty wandered through the Reptile Room. He looked at his snakes, his lizards, his tortoises, all of them so special to him. They all showed his success, his years of hard work researching and studying reptiles. He was so proud of them. But as he walked through the glass-walled room, a very rare thought entered his head; the thought was about how dangerous his snakes were. Where were the venomous snakes, the ones whose venom could paralyse a human in minutes; where were the constrictors, the ones who could wrap their long bodies around you and slowly constrict your chest until you suffocated? And where were the countless other humans that could kill a human in a variety of unpleasant and painful ways?

But as these thoughts swirled around his head, Monty’s heart rate spiked. Why was he thinking about this? He looked over at the large cabinet at the other side of the room, the one that held a vast collection of snake venom. So many of these venoms could kill a human in a few minutes, using the tinniest dose. It would be excruciatingly painful, but it would be quick, and it would do the job.

Monty gasped, resting his head in his hands. He gripped at his head, digging his fingertips into his hair. Monty exhaled slowly, trying to work out what was happening. Was he having thoughts of suicide? But why? Even after the awful things he had been through, even after the mental strain of the last two months and the PTSD symptoms he had developed, he had never been suicidal. So why was this happening?

More thoughts entered his head, thoughts of getting one of his deadly snakes to bite him and making it look like an accident; then no one would know it was suicide, and no one would shame Monty for taking his own life.

No!

His eyes filling with tears, Monty squeezed his head so much it hurt. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to feel useless and worthless. He didn’t want to resort to suicide.

But it was so hard to resist. Monty thought of his visit to the Herpetological Society, how everyone mocked his name. Of course, they always did that, as did the majority of people Monty had met. However, he had never been subjected to their taunts whilst in such a fragile mental state. And so whilst these sorts of things only used to irritate him, he now found himself inching nearer and nearer to a full-on mental breakdown. Monty whimpered and walked over to his library, plucking a book from one of the many shelves. He tried to focus on the book, and not on painful memories or thoughts of suicide, but his sweaty hands and rapid heartbeat made it difficult to concentrate.

Monty sat down, flopping onto one of his chairs with a thud. His eyes filled with tears again and he groaned, wishing he could stop thinking about taking his own life. But as he sat there, trying to push the thoughts of suicide out of his mind, Monty began to wonder if they had a point. After all, life was hell at the moment and he knew he would never forget his terrible ordeal. He may have been a highly successful herpetologist, but he was also little more than a laughing stock for his fellow scientists. And his feelings for Gustav were requited, but Gustav would only date Monty if his mental state significantly stabilised – and right now, it didn’t seem like Monty was ever going to improve. So, to be honest, what was there to live for? Would life be easier for everyone if Monty just put a boa constrictor to his neck and let it strange him? Or if he just took a vial of Mamba du Mal venom and injected the deadly liquid into one of his veins? Or if he just took a non-snake-related route and hanged himself?

It was at this point that Gustav walked into the Reptile Room. Looking back, Monty often wonders how that evening might have ended had he been left alone. Would he have spiralled further and further downhill until he actually took his own life? Or would he have talked himself out of it, masturbated in a futile attempt to feel better and cried himself to restless sleep? But it turns out that neither of these things ever happened, and never had a chance to happen. Because Gustav intervened.

“Monty?” he said, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and talking in an absentminded tone. “I need to go and meet Jacquelyn. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

And even though he was a grown man, even though he was a highly successful herpetologist who routinely led expeditions all over the world, and even though he was the kind of person who was not prone to crying in front of others… Monty broke down. Tears spilling down his face, Monty bolted out of his chair and rushed towards Gustav. He grabbed Gustav’s arm and stared into his eyes, and his voice was weak and broken as he said, “Please don’t leave.”

Gustav took a step backwards, but put his hands on Monty’s shoulders. “Monty, is something the matter?”

“I…” Monty broke eye contact, staring down at his feet. It was so humiliating to say, but he managed to mumble, “Please don’t leave me here, Gustav. I don’t want to be alone. I… I’m scared to be alone.”

“Why?” Gustav said, and it was disturbing to hear someone as usually unflappable as Gustav getting worried. “Monty, what has happened?”

Monty closed his eyes, but that didn’t stop tears leaking from behind his eyelids. He inhaled slowly, but his sobs made the action shaky. “I am feeling… suicidal.” He felt the slightest change in the grip Gustav had on his shoulders, but Gustav said nothing. “And I fear that if I am left alone, I’ll kill myself.”

There were a few seconds of silence between them, the only sounds created by the reptiles moving and Monty sobbing. Then Gustav simply said, “I’ll stay.”

“But don’t you have to meet Jacquelyn?” Monty said, sniffing.

“I do, but I can rearrange so we meet here. Given what you have just told me, there is no way I’m leaving you unattended.”

Monty looked at him. Gustav was smiling, but it was a smile which existed to try and reassure Monty, and not quite hiding the fear behind it.

“Thank you, Gustav,” Monty whispered. He wiped his eyes, wishing he wasn’t so pathetic, and tried to smile.

But Monty’s smile did not hide his fear and self-hatred and worrying need to kill himself. And he knew it fooled neither of them.

\---

After telling Gustav that he felt suicidal, Monty was placed under what he called ‘unofficial suicide watch’. He named it this because he wasn’t placed in a mental hospital, but he was never felt alone, and anything remotely dangerous was confiscated. He genuinely appreciated that Gustav would go to such lengths to keep him safe… however, after a few days, it started to get very annoying.

Gustav and Jacquelyn spent almost all of their time at Monty’s house, going on each other’s missions if necessary or even enlisting other VFD agents to cover for them, going to all of this trouble just to make sure that Monty was never left alone. They took Monty’s razor and locked the kitchen knives away. They look his belt and any long cables away. They locked the medicine cabinet and locked the gardening equipment away. And they locked the door to the Reptile Room and took the key away.

So now Monty had been away from his reptiles and library for three long days, and it hurt. He was so angry with his life and his brain and his circumstances, and Monty just wanted to scream. His bedroom was about the only place he had any privacy, and that was where Monty could currently be found, pacing and ranting about his life in his thoughts. And when he thought about being locked out of the Reptile Room again, he swore and smashed his hand against the wall, gritting his teeth as pain shot up his arm. And when Jacquelyn came running into the room without even knocking, Monty snapped.

“Jacquelyn!” he shouted. “Leave me alone!”

She stared at him, her eyes widening ever so slightly. “No.”

“What?!” Monty spluttered. He had been expecting a row. He _wanted_ a row.

“I won’t leave you alone,” Jacquelyn said, her voice calm. “I promised Gustav that I would keep you safe. And given that I walked in on you self-harming, I need to honour my promise.”

Monty stared at her, still pulsing with anger. He wanted an argument – he wanted to scream and for her to scream back, letting out all of his anger in a complete screaming row, and then maybe he would feel less angry afterwards. But how could he possibly argue with someone so rational. He sighed shakily. “Please leave me alone.”

“Very well, Dr Montgomery.” Her voice was still calm, but her slip back into using his title and surname told Monty that she was annoyed with him (and he didn’t blame her). “I shall leave.”

Jacquelyn turned and exited the bedroom. He shut the door and leaned against it, listening for her footsteps. She retreated, but stayed near his door, clearly wanting to stay close.

Monty groaned, hating this. Wanting a definite way to be left alone, Monty decided to have a shower, for her knew that Gustav and Jacquelyn wouldn’t follow him into the bathroom. So he gathered his pyjamas and towel and clean underwear, left his bedroom and walked across the landing. But he stopped upon hearing voices.

“He seems to be getting worse,” someone said. It was Jacquelyn, and she sounded to be downstairs now.

“I noticed,” the other person, Gustav, said. Monty hugged his towel to his chest. “What happened?”

“He just shouted at me. I heard a thud and upon entering the room, I saw his hand was injured. He harmed himself.” She sighed. “I wish we could end his suffering, Gustav. This is dreadful for all of us, but especially for Monty.”

“I know. So do I.”

A chair scraped across the floor, and Monty knew they were hugging. And although he knew that their relationship was deep but entirely platonic, Monty felt a twinge of jealousy. Not wanting to hear any more of their conversation, Monty locked himself in the bathroom. He turned the shower on and ran the water hot, stripping off and trying to avoid looking at the small scars on his hips.

And he stepped under the water. Turning the water pressure up, Monty tilted his head backwards and let the hot water soak his hair and trickle down his face. He groaned, most of the pressure in his sore, stiff muscles relaxing under the heat of the water. The word ‘most’ was used because Monty never fully relaxed, even when asleep, even after an orgasm, and even under a hot, powerful shower. Monty tried to distance his thoughts from Gustav and Jacquelyn, leaning against the tiled wall of the shower and letting the water drench him.

But as he washed himself, Monty opened the bottle and felt a sharp jolt of pain in his thumb. Wincing, Monty looked at his thumb, a trail of blood trickling from a small cut, and then at the bottle and saw the lid had snapped, leaving a surprisingly jagged edge that was now stained red with Monty’s blood. And he found himself smiling, a warped feeling of satisfaction appearing when he realised that, try as they might, Jacquelyn and Gustav had not taken _everything_ dangerous away from him. And even though he was supposed to be relaxing and forgetting about his anger and irrational jealously, Monty thought about his outburst at Jacquelyn and his pathetic jealousy about Gustav and the fact that he hated putting them both through such stress, and his heartbeat increased.

He gripped the sharp piece of broken plastic and, gritting his teeth, pressed it against his thigh. Monty pressed down and he felt the pop when the shard broke the skin. He dragged it across his thigh and it tore his skin, cutting a thin line across his leg. Blood oozed out of the gash and dribbled down his thigh. Water ran into the cut, stinging horribly, and Monty whimpered again. But he didn’t mind the pain.

However, when Monty stared at his injured thigh and the blood making small trails down it (before mixing with the water, turning it cloudy and pink and then swirling down the drain), anxiety gripped at his chest. He thought about the scars on his hips and the sensation of warm blood running down his skin, and his brain started to take over. Soon, memories of how he got the scars began to play inside his brain, and Monty’s knees buckled and he slid to the floor of the shower…

_There were hands on him, roughly flipping him onto his stomach, voices laughing and taunting and leering in the background. But they all sounded like white noise, the ringing (and sound of his own heartbeat) in his ears too loud to hear much else. But he felt the hands, jagged fingernails digging into his hips. Now on his stomach, a filthy mattress pressed against the side of his face and his sore penis rubbing against the rough fabric, Monty didn’t see what this rapist did to him. But he felt it. He certainly felt it._

_His hands spread Monty’s buttocks apart, and then a cold, dry finger was pushed inside of him. Monty winced, wishing he could escape but knowing he couldn’t move. Monty expected more fingers, but then the man pushed his erection inside of him with no preparation. Despite his drug-addled state, Monty cried out. Pain seared through his body, his anus torn, blood trickling out of him. The man started to thrust, jerking his hips roughly, and Monty winced, more tearing and pain and bleeding. Soon, he was screaming, the pain so severe it even hurt to breathe, and the man’s hands were on his hips, nails digging into his skin. The man swore and tears spilled down Monty’s face, the nails tearing his skin as the penis tore his anus._

_When Monty realised that he had an erection, he nearly vomited, hating his body so much. But then the rapist hit his prostate and despite the agony and terror, Monty came hard all over the mattress. His testicles ached from the constant stimulation he had received in the time he had been trapped here, being brutally raped by a group of evil people. Monty sobbed and the man moaned, his fingernails gouging cuts in his hips and sending blood trickling down his skin. And as he thrust so hard that he pushed his entire erection into Monty, sending more pain jolting through his body, he swore and ejaculated. Monty gagged, feeling the heat of the semen inside him and vomited into his mouth upon the pain of the man roughly pulling out of him._

_And as the rapists laughed, Monty cried silently, blood and semen dribbled out of his torn anus and across his torn skin._

When he returned to the present, Monty found the water running cold. Despite a desperate urge to masturbate (as much as hated it, he was always aroused after these horrible flashbacks, and masturbating helped him feel better – at least, until the orgasm was over, after which he just felt dirty), Monty hauled himself upright, his shaky legs protesting, and stood under the cold water. He stood there, shivering, until his erection went away and the gash on his leg stopped bleeding and he didn’t feel quite so awful.

Monty finished washing under the cold stream of water, shivering and wobbling on unsteady legs, and then got out of the shower. He slowly dressed himself, making sure to stick a Band-Aid over the cut on his thigh in case it started bleeding again. And when he opened the bathroom door, he expected (or maybe wanted) to see Gustav and Jacquelyn stood in the doorway. But they were still downstairs.

Sighing, Monty went to bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. He eventually fell asleep with the cut stinging on his thigh, images of Gustav swirling around his mind and tears drying on his face.

\---

Time slipped by, days and weeks and months going by as his life faltered and juddered along like a train moving along broken tracks, almost always seconds away from falling off of the tracks and crashing. Monty felt like he was getting better, the nightmares and flashbacks getting less frequent, but it was a slow process and he was still hypersexual and Gustav and Jacquelyn still followed him around, and he still went to see Jane the psychotherapist, who had recently diagnosed him with PTSD. And the police still hadn’t caught his rapists, something that filled Monty with fear and Gustav and Jacquelyn with anger whenever they remembered that those evil people were still out there.

Although, looking back with fifteen years of hindsight, Monty knows that they were never caught, ever. They got away with the awful, evil things they did to him. And he hates them.

\---

It is difficult to explain what life after trauma is like. You fluctuate, often very rapidly: sometimes you seem fine, almost like you were before something awful changed your life forever; other times, you can seem fine on the surface, but are actually pulsing with anxiety, the people around you totally oblivious to your internal struggle; and sometimes you just break, stricken with panic and attacked by flashbacks and nightmares, and life is such a struggle that it feels like you have lost your months of progress, feeling as weak and scared and helpless as you did during the trauma.

One day, almost seven months after the start of his troubles (Monty was still reluctant to actually talk about what happened to him), Monty was definitely experiencing the latter of these three scenarios. He had awoken with a rapid heartbeat, and the realisation that he had an early-morning erection sent him into a flashback. Once it was over, Monty cried and masturbated and cleaned himself up, before heading downstairs and searching for Gustav. He wanted to bid his assistant a good morning and try and forget about the last (and first) hour of his morning. But he couldn’t find Gustav, and the fear that raced through Monty told him that today was most certainly a Bad Day.

His heart pounding and sweat breaking out all over his body, Monty heaved in a shuddering gasp and rushed into the Reptile Room. He had been getting better at being left home alone (to the point that Gustav routinely left for days on end for his mysterious missions like he did before all of this started, and Jacquelyn rarely came around at all), but not on days like today. He wanted Gustav. He wanted Jacquelyn. He wanted Beatrice and Bertrand and Larry and everyone he knew, just so he had someone with him, someone to stay with him and reassure him and help him cope with the panic that threatened to consume him.

But he had no one; he had to struggle with a full-on Bad Day on his own. Which was why he was locking himself inside the Reptile Room, because this was the one place in the entire world in which he felt safe. It was his sanctuary. But as he sank into a chair, images fluttering through his mind as the reptiles throughout the huge room made noises that Monty found strangely soothing, Monty thought about Gustav, wishing that he didn’t have to shatter like this alone…

Monty was pulled out of his thoughts (actually memories trying to force him to relive everything) when someone knocked on the door to the Reptile Room. He had no idea how long he had been sitting here, panicking and battling flashbacks, but the different position of the sun in the sky made him think it had been over two hours. A stinging pain blossomed on the palms of his hands; when Monty unclenched his fists (not even remembering clenching them), he found small cuts from where his fingernails broke the skin. He winced and wiped his bloody palms on his pant legs, not caring when the light brown fabric became streaked with red.

He didn’t want to answer the door. It could have been anyone, and they could have been dangerous. What if he opened the door and found a burglar there, ready to beat him up and steal his precious reptiles and research? What if a dangerous criminal like that awful Olaf was on the other side of the door, about to murder him the moment he opened it? And what if – and this was the thought that made Monty’s stomach churn with nausea – it was the gang who abducted and hurt him, back for revenge for reporting him to the police? Monty groaned, more blood welling up in the cuts on his sore palms, and tried to steady his breathing.

Monty hated the weakling he had become in these last few months. He used to be a member of the VFD (well, he is still is, technically, but he hasn’t ever got too deeply involved with them); he still owned his spyglass, for goodness’ sake. He used to be a strong, independent scientist who went on expeditions to the remotest places on Earth. And now he was here, almost having a breakdown and definitely having a panic attack about being home alone, terrified that the person on the other side of the door _might_ be in some way dangerous. He was pathetic. He wanted to push his anxiety down somewhere deep inside him and ignore it, as he often did. But today he simply could not. The panic was too strong.

“Monty?”

As his heart raced and he tried so hard to avoid tumbling into a panic attack, Monty heard a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Another knock.

“Monty!”

It was Jacquelyn.

“Monty, I know you are in here.”

As Monty stood there, blood oozing across the palms of his hands, something occurred to him. Even though Jacquelyn was strong and resourceful enough to break into the Reptile Room (and even though she knew where the spare key was hidden), she did not force her way into the room. She was waiting for Monty’s permission before entering. And even though he was panicking, this small show of respecting his boundaries made Monty feel a little better.

His legs wobbling, Monty stumbled across the room and leaned against the door. A glance at the distorted image through the spy hole showed it was definitely Jacquelyn.

“If you feel up to it, will you let me in?” she said.

“Yes, of course,” Monty mumbled. He opened the door to reveal Jacquelyn stood in the doorway. “H-Hello, Jacquelyn.”

Jacquelyn stared at him, studying Monty’s appearance. And as though she could read his mind, she said, “It appears that you’re struggling today. Is that correct?”

Monty nodded. “Y-Yes, I feel… awful, to be quite honest. Um… why exactly are you here?”

“Gustav sent me,” she said. “We were about to do a very important task, only to find that Gustav had left a vital piece of equipment here. He was busy, so he asked me to retrieve it.”

“I see,” he mumbled, wiping yet more blood on his pants. Jacquelyn noticed this, but said nothing. “So you let yourself in and you found the… thing. So why did you knock on the door to the Reptile Room?”

“I couldn’t find you, and Gustav and I never really let down out guard after your… suicidal period, so I like to check up on you when I visit. And when I found you had locked yourself in the Reptile Room, I assumed you were distressed.” Jacquelyn smiled sadly. “I was correct.”

Monty nodded, staring down at the floor. “Yes, you were.”

She looked at him, studying him again. “Monty, would you like me to stay?”

Startled by her question, Monty stepped backwards. “No, no, there is no need. I may be struggling today, but this conversation with you has helped a lot. Go on your secret mission with Gustav, and I promise I shall call if I need either of you. And… thank you for looking out for me.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Jacquelyn said, smiling. “And you’re welcome.”

And Jacquelyn left him alone in the house. As soon as she shut the door behind her, Monty locked it and then locked himself back in the Reptile Room. He appreciated her support, but there was very little Jacquelyn could do to help him when he was in a state like this, so it was rather pointless for her to stay her here. So even though Monty did actually want (need) her company, he let her leave.

And so he spent the rest of the day in the Reptile Room, time running strangely and terrified and hoping tomorrow would be a Better Day.

\---

Nine months. It had been nine months. Nine months since it happened. Nine months of trauma. Nine months of suffering. Nine months of therapy… and despite those nine months of therapy, he still couldn’t name what happened to him. he just called it ‘it’ or ‘what happened to him’ or ‘the source of his trauma’ or many other phrases that meant nothing except to prove that Monty would rather resort to using numerous euphemisms than admit that nine months ago, a gang drugged him and kidnapped him and then… He just couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to relive it (the nightmares and flashbacks already did that for him).

But Monty knew he had to talk about it at some point. As much as he wanted to, Monty knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life trying to deny… it. At some point, he had to talk about it. The other people in his life agreed with this thought, especially Jane.

“Monty, I understand why you want to suppress your emotions and memories,” she said in their latest session, one leg crossed over the other and her clasped hands resting on her knees. “But you can’t go on like this forever.”

“I know,” Monty said, desperately trying to suppress his rising anger, not wanting to snap at her. “But…” he ducked his head, eyes prickling. “It is… difficult.”

“I know that,” Jane said, and he heard the sympathy in her voice; being treated nicely by someone he found attractive had the usual result, and Monty soon crossed his legs to hide his growing erection. “I know, Monty. Trust me, I understand. I just think you need to make this a goal of yours. To openly talk about how those people raped you.”

Monty flinched, his heart racing. He clenched his fists, hoping he wasn’t going to panic or cry at the first mention of ‘it’ in a long while. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath… and his perception of the world shattered.

Jane was talking to him, but her voice sounded odd. It was as though he was listening to a poor-quality radio transmission, her voice crackling until it was very difficult to understand what she was saying. His skin prickled, fists trembling and body hair standing on end. His groin throbbed, but it felt almost painful. Monty opened his eyes to find that he had tunnel vision, his view of Jane and the office clouding around the edges, totally distorted. Starting to feel dizzy, Monty closed his eyes again. But his head still spun and his senses went weird and he had no idea what was going on.

And then Monty opened his eyes, and he wasn’t in the office anymore. He found himself sat in the passenger seat of his truck. Gustav was in the driving seat, steering the vehicle along a busy road. His head felt groggy and his muscles trembled, and Monty had no idea what was happening. How much time had passed when it only felt like seconds? What was going on?

“Gustav?” he said, and his voice sounded strange.

“Monty?” Gustav turned his head slightly, and Monty saw him smiling. “How are you feeling?”

Monty ran shaking fingers through his surprisingly sweaty hair. “I… I don’t really know. What happened?”

Gustav hesitated. “I think I should pull over.”

“Why?”

“Because this is going to be a complicated conversation, and it’ll be easier if I stop the truck,” Gustav said.

Monty looked at his assistant, realising that his heart was still pounding. He nodded, but was still extremely puzzled. He watched Gustav pull the truck into a lay-by, before turning around in his seat to face Monty.

“So, basically, after a certain part of your therapy session, you began to dissociate,” Gustav explained. “According to Jane, you spent the rest of the meeting on autopilot, as it were, responding to her in a flat tone. She explained dissociation to me, and mentioned how she accidentally triggered it in you. It is basically harmless, but can be very distressing.” He obviously realised that he was rambling – which was usually Monty’s thing – because he sighed. “Was it distressing?”

Monty looked at Gustav, hating the concern in his eyes. “Yes, it was. Dissociating was one of the strangest and most disturbing experiences of my life, and I don’t want to repeat it.”

Gustav smiled sadly. “I don’t blame you. Are you feeling any better now?”

“A bit,” Monty said, and it wasn’t a lie; despite still feeing spaced out and anxious, he did feel a bit better with Gustav by his side.

\---

As he hit his tenth month of his new (and horrible) life, Monty noticed a difference in his symptoms. He was still hypersexual, but this didn’t seem to be the case all of the time. Sometimes, yes, he was painfully hypersexual, masturbating several times a day and having sexual thoughts about Gustav and anyone else he found attractive flash through his brain. But other times, Monty realised he was becoming sex repulsed. The thought of masturbating or having sex literally repulsed him, making him feel sick and tremble. And just when he got used to being sex repulsed, it swung and Monty once again found himself hypersexual. It was an incredibly confusing and irritating cycle. Jane said this was also common, but Monty just wanted it to stop.

Ever since she mentioned ‘it’ in therapy and Monty dissociated, Jane seemed reluctant to bring the topic up again. But they both knew they needed to talk about it; even though it triggered Monty so badly, he knew Jane was correct. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life suppressing everything. He needed to talk about it. But he was just terrified that it would make him dissociate or have a flashback or send him into an awful relapse featuring suicidal thoughts.

But even though this internal battle made him angry and want to cry, Monty made a decision one day. He was wandering through the Reptile Room one evening, exhausted from restless sleep the night before and watching his various snakes constrict or inject their mice (he and Gustav fed several of them earlier that evening) and then eat them, when he decided it: he was going to talk about it with Gustav. If he had to do this, he would rather talk to Gustav than Jane; he and Gustav were very close, and Monty trusted him more than anyone else in the world.

So he left the Reptile Room and went on a search for Gustav. The Screeching Iguana clock made him jump, and Monty sighed. He wandered into the living room and finally located Gustav. His assistant was sat in an armchair, watching the television. Well, the television was on, but Gustav seemed more interested in a notebook.

“Gustav?” Monty said. “Can we talk?”

Gustav looked up, and he did Jacquelyn’s studying-you thing that slightly unnerved Monty. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

Monty sat down on the opposite couch, clasping his hands together. His heart pounded against his ribs, something he was all too familiar with. “Well… do you recall how I never name… what happened to me, simply calling it ‘it’ or a variety of other euphemisms? Jane tried to get me to talk about it, and that was how she made me dissociate. However, I don’t think that will happen this time. Gustav, I want to talk.”

“Monty,” Gustav said, clearly a bit stunned. “Are you sure?”

Part of him wanted to back out of this, but Monty nodded. “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I need to name it. I need to accept what happened to me and try to heal or move on in some way. And even if it doesn’t actually achieve anything, I still want to do this.” Monty heard his voice tremble, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Gustav, ten months ago, when we were at a party at Beatrice and Bertrand’s house, I was drugged and abducted. And I was taken to this van and a group of people…” His eyes stung with tears. He wanted to be sick. “And they… they gang raped me.”

And that was it. Saying the words… just made him brake down. Tears spilled down his face and Monty let out a sob, hunching forwards and covering his face with his hands. And even though it was quite difficult to speak, Monty continued to mumble to himself. “And it w-wasn’t my fault. They hurt me, they raped me, and I h-hope the bastards get arrested one day. I…”

It became too hard to speak, and Monty simply sobbed.

“Monty?” Gustav said. He had moved closer, and stood beside Monty. “Monty, would you like a hug?”

He moved his hands and looked up at Gustav, tears running down his face. He sniffed and wiped his face. Nodding, Monty said, “I would appreciate that, Gustav.”

And so Gustav crouched down beside him and wrapped his arms around Monty. He leaned against Gustav as he sobbed, and Monty was grateful that he wasn’t currently hypersexual and didn’t get an embarrassing erection right now. Instead, he simply cried and was hugged by Gustav, his best friend and the man he loved so much.

“I’m so proud of you,” Gustav said. “I know how difficult this was for you. And you did it. Well done, Monty.”

And even though he was crying quite hysterically, Monty found himself smiling through the tears.

\---

“Monty?” Gustav said, knocking on the door to the Reptile Room.

Monty jolted himself awake, blinking blearily. It was the middle of the afternoon, but Monty was sat in an armchair in his Reptile Room, sleeping and-slash-or sitting there and trying not to fall asleep; he didn’t sleep very well the night before, and was exhausted. He looked up at Gustav and smiled.

“Hello, Gustav.”

“I apologise for waking you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Monty said. “I shouldn’t be asleep in the daytime anyway. It messes up my circadian rhythm. Do you want to talk about anything?”

Gustav broke eye contact, walking across the Reptile Room and sitting in another armchair. To Monty’s confusion, he looked… embarrassed. What was going on?”

“I would, actually,” Gustav said. “Monty, do you remember our conversation several months ago, the one where you wanted to sleep with me but I knew it was just your hypersexuality talking so I refused, but we also confessed our feelings to each other and I vowed that I would start a relationship in the future when you were coping better?” Finally finishing his very long question, Gustav’s cheeks went pink and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

And Monty stared at him, remembering that conversation very well. Was Gustav doing what he thought he was?”

“Anyway,” he continued, still avoiding eye contact. “You have made such progress since then. I know you still have feelings for me, and I s-still have them for you. And so I was wondering… Monty, would you like to begin a relationship with me? There is no pressure, obviously, and your mental health comes first, and—”

“Gustav,” Monty said softly, cutting him off. He smiled, and it was a genuine smile that made him look much more like he used to. “You don’t need to ramble. I understand. And… I would love that. In fact, I would be honoured.”

He stood up and walked towards Gustav. Monty extended his hand.

“Would you like to hold my hand?”

Gustav looked up. He was bright red, but smiled. “I certainly would.”

And Gustav stood too and they clasped hands, looking at each other. Monty stepped forwards, and his voice cracked as he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Gustav looked speechless, but he nodded. And, leaning closer, they kissed, their lips touching. And Monty closed his eyes and leaned against Gustav, so content. And as contentment was very rare these days, he wished this moment would never end.

When they pulled apart, both were blushing.

“Thank you, Gustav,” Monty said.

Gustav smiled. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he said, and he started laughing.

And soon they were both bickering and laughing, and Monty couldn’t remember a time he felt this happy.

\---

A week after he and Gustav began their romantic relationship, Monty invited Gustav to share his bed that night.

“Just to sleep, mind you,” he said, feeling the need to clarify.

“I understand,” Gustav said, smiling. “And as long as you’re fine with that, I would love to.”

“Of course I’m fine with it; it was my suggestion.” Monty smiled and reached for Gustav’s hand. “I love our new relationship, Gustav.”

Gustav squeezed his hand. “So do I.”

And so that night, Gustav joined Monty in his double bed. They kissed and Monty switched the light off, and it was so strange to have someone else in the bed with him. But it wasn’t unpleasant; in fact, Gustav’s constant presence was rather nice.

It usually took Monty hours to fall asleep, but being with Gustav changed something in him. He wasn’t sure what it was – maybe it was the feeling of security to have Gustav lying beside him – but either way, tonight, Monty fell asleep within twenty minutes. Unfortunately, though, Gustav’s presence didn’t stop the nightmares.

Usually, the nightmares played all the way through and then woke him up, but something happened this time. Because the nightmare (one of the ones he always had, the nightmare about one of the men raping his mouth and making him gag) had only just began when Monty found himself awake.

Lying on his back, Monty found the lights switched on. His heart raced and his eyes were full of tears, but he felt different. He was not nearly as exhausted or terrified or pulsing with adrenaline… and the reason why was right there beside him.

Gustav was sat next to him, his hand on Monty’s shoulder. He must have shaken him and woke him up.

“Monty, are you okay?” Gustav said, concern audible in his voice. “I think you were having a nightmare. You kept moaning and thrashing about, and you seemed distressed, so I woke you. Is that what happened?”

Monty nodded, propping himself up on one elbow and used his free hand to wipe his damp eyes. “Y-Yes, exactly that. Thank you for waking me. The full nightmare hadn’t yet begun and you saved me a lot of stress.” Monty grasped Gustav’s hand and smiled weakly. “Thank you, Gustav.”

Gustav looked slightly like he wanted to cry, but he smiled. “I’m glad I could help. Would… you like a hug?”

“Please,” Monty said, and Gustav shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around Monty.

When Monty fell asleep again, he slept through the night, still cuddled up with Gustav. And when he awoke, he looked at his sleeping partner, and he knew that, whilst life was still difficult, things were going to get a lot better. At least, he hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

That all happened fifteen years ago, and Monty knows things are better now. They have to be; after all, life during that year could not have got much worse. Yes, things are definitely better now.

With a few relapses, Monty’s mental health has been very stable. Having Gustav by his side as a loving and patient partner helps more than he can possibly explain.

Fifteen years ago, he could not imagine going on one of his expeditions again, too scared and unwell to leave his house unaccompanied, let alone travel to undiscovered parts of the planet. But last month, he and Gustav went on their first expedition in fifteen years, and it was wonderful. They even discovered a new snake, which Monty is determined to call the Incredibly Deadly Viper (mainly to annoy everyone at the Herpetological Society for mocking his name), and Monty couldn’t believe how much his life has changed.

Yes, things are definitely better now.

\---

“Monty, you need to see this,” Gustav calls.

Monty is torn from writing his book about the Incredibly Deadly Viper when he hears a strange tone to his partner’s voice. Knowing something must be wrong, Monty rushes off in search of Gustav, his heart drumming in his chest. He finds Gustav in the living room, watching the television. The local news is on, and the banner across the bottom of the screen says:

**Terrible Fire Destroys Baudelaire Mansion. Two People Dead.**

He looks at Gustav, suddenly wanting to vomit. “The… Baudelaire mansion?”

Gustav nods slowly, and holds his hand. “Yes. Apparently, Beatrice and Bertrand are dead.”

Monty exhales slowly, barely able to process this. “Oh my God. What about their children?”

He never met Violet, Klaus and Sunny, but Monty knows that Beatrice and Bertrand loved their children dearly, and the children were as intelligent and kind people as their parents.

“The children survived,” Gustav says, his voice flat. “But, obviously, they are now orphans.”

“Well, then won’t they be sent to live with us?” Monty says, smiling despite the horrible grief hitting him in the stomach. It is so terrible that the Baudelaire parents are dead, but the situation can be improved by the children getting to live with Monty and Gustav. “After all, I am their closest living relative.”

“I know. And I hope so. With a fortune like that, I dread to think who might come after them without us to protect them.”

Monty grimaces at the thought and hugs Gustav.

\---

With this whole mess with the poor orphans to sort out, Gustav barely comes to the house for several weeks. Monty wishes he could help, but he has never really got involved with field work for the VFD, and someone as ‘unstable’ as him probably isn’t fit for the sort of work Gustav is doing.

However, he receives various telephone messages (they often phone at night, when Monty is asleep, and he listens to the messages the next morning) over the course of these weeks, which entail Gustav or Jacquelyn checking up on him and telling Monty what is going on.

_“Hello, Monty. It’s Jacquelyn. We discovered how this awful mess-up happened. Basically, my ‘amazing’ boss Mr Poe got scammed by Count Olaf and manipulated into sending the Baudelaires to live with him instead of you. Our current plan is to rescue the children and get Olaf arrested. I hope you are coping well.”_

_“Hello, Monty. Gustav, here. How are you doing? I just learned that Jacquelyn was kidnapped two days ago, and spent the time tied to a small tree and trying to contact me. Thankfully, she managed to find me and told me that this was the work of Count Olaf’s team. We have been doing more surveillance on Olaf and are trying to rescue the children. We hope that once we do, they will get sent to live with you… with us. I hope to see you soon, Monty. I love you.”_

The messages are all like this, featuring enough detail that Monty gets a very good idea of the situation with the poor children without ever leaving his house. He hopes the children will get to live with him, because Monty is certain that he and Gustav would be more than proficient as guardians. And he knows that the two of them could keep the children safe, because Count Olaf will inevitably try to track them down. He just keeps hoping that Gustav and Jacquelyn will solve this awful problem.

Not that long after fifth message arrives, Monty starts to dissociate. Dissociation is heavily associated with his PTSD getting worse, and he hopes he isn’t going to have another relapse. They are horrible enough as it is, and he doesn’t want to have to go through something like that alone. So Monty implements the coping mechanisms his old therapist taught him, doing things to ground himself (his favourite one is to grab an ice cube from the freezer and hold it in his hand, feeling the bitter coldness), and he starts to come back to reality.

But even with his coping mechanisms, he finds it hard to focus. And he misses Gustav.

\---

After everything at that dreadful theatre performance (in which Gustav and Jacquelyn stepped in and rescued the Baudelaires from Olaf and the imminent threat of him trying to marry Violet, only for Olaf to escape), Gustav and Jacquelyn watch that useless Mr Poe talking to the children. They glance at each other, and Gustav knows she is thinking the same thing as him: how could that man have put the children into this position?

Even though Gustav wants to take the children straight to his home and finally spend time with Monty again, he has to follow protocol. So he and Jacquelyn leave the theatre to track down Count Olaf, wishing this would be simpler.

\---

Monty gasps, lashing out reflexively as he stares into the near darkness. His heart racing, he bites his lip to get a jolt of pain, and knows that he is awake now. He fumbles for the light switch and sits up in bed, trying to slow his breathing. The nightmare still seems to play in his mind even though he is now awake, a nightmare he has had several nights a week for fifteen years but never seems to get less terrifying.

He groans and rubs his hands across his sweaty face. Ever since he and Gustav began their relationship, Monty has become used to waking up Gustav and being reassured by his partner, helping him calm down and go back to sleep. But Gustav is not here, and he has to deal with the post-nightmare anxiety alone.

Which is probably why he doesn’t fall asleep for the rest of the night, sat up in bed as his heart races and wishing Gustav was here.

\---

As he literally stands on the edge of a pond (watching that play with all of its grammatical inaccuracies was so irritating), Gustav talks into his walkie talkie.

“I am literally standing on the edge of a pond,” Gustav says, and then he stops.

“Gustav?” Jacquelyn says, but he ignores her.

He is certain he heard something. A rustling noise or something like that. And then he works it out and drops to the ground, landing with a thud and laying as still as he can. Seconds later, there is a high pitched whine as something tiny shoots through the air above him, missing Gustav completely – but would have hit him in the neck if he was still standing.

“Gustav?” Jacquelyn says again, more urgently this time. “What is going on?”

Gustav breathes deeply, crouching low to the ground to keep out of the line of fire. “I think someone just tried to murder me.”

“Did you see them?”

“No, but it seems rather obvious who was behind it,” he says.

Jacquelyn hums in approval. “Yes, it does. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.”

And he is right. Someone tried to kill him, but he survived. He is still here. He is alive.

\---

Gustav was planning on not telling Monty about the someone-almost-murdering-him incident, mainly because Monty is already stressed and learning about something that ended up not even happening would have a detrimental effect on him, but Monty finds out.

He still isn’t sure how, but when he lets himself into the house, Monty grabs his arms and hugs him as tightly as he can, and he mumbles, “I’m so glad you’re safe, Gustav. I cannot believe that someone would try to kill you.”

He doesn’t ask how Monty knows about this. Instead, he hugs Monty back and tries to reassure his partner, so glad that they are still together.

\---

“I hate that job, but it has its perks,” Jacquelyn says.

“And what might that be?”

“Getting to spy on my incompetent boss and giving us a head start on helping the Baudelaires.”

Gustav and Jacquelyn are stood in the hallway, Jacquelyn having just arrived. All she told him on the telephone was that she had good news, making Gustav wait until she arrived to tell him. But she is here now, so she needs to tell him whatever it is. From this angle, he can see Monty inside the Reptile Room, watching his partner try and get the Incredibly Deadly Viper back into its cage; that snake is very intelligent, and they are very lucky that its name is a misnomer.

He smiles. “I know what you mean. So, what is this urgent news?”

Jacquelyn raises her eyebrows, giving him a taunting smile. “Are you sure you really want to know?”

Gustav sighs, but he is not serious. “Definitely. Please tell me.”

“Fine,” Jacquelyn says, and she puts a hand on his shoulder. “It appears that Mr Poe has finally worked out what ‘closest living relative’ actually means, and is going to send the children to live with Monty.”

“Excellent,” Gustav says, a great feeling of relief flooding through his abdomen. “We’re so glad to hear that.”

Monty, who have previously shown little interest in their conversation glances over, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. Gustav smiles at him and Monty abandons the snake and walks towards them.

“Trust me, I am too,” Jacquelyn says. “The children should be arriving first thing tomorrow.”

Even though it is rare for them, Gustav gives Jacquelyn a hug. “Thank you.”

“What are you two talking about?” Monty asks, wandering over to the pair, who are still hugging.

Gustav and Jacquelyn break apart. He glances at Monty, but Monty doesn’t look jealous; he has long since got over the thought that he and Jacquelyn might have anything but a 100% platonic relationship.

“Jacquelyn has news about the Baudelaire children,” he explains. “They will arrive tomorrow morning.”

“Brilliant!” Monty cries, kissing Gustav, and Gustav knows that he is feeling relieved as well. “I am so glad you two sorted this out that is difficult to actually put it into words.”

“Trust me, so are we,” Jacquelyn says, smiling.

Gustav smiles too, but also studies his partner. Monty has a huge smile on his face, but there are bags under his eyes; Monty’s nightmares have been worse lately, resulting in chronic sleep deprivation. Hopefully, now that he is back, Gustav will be able to help Monty cope more successfully. “It was hard work, but it paid off. We rescued the children, and tomorrow, they will be living here with us.”

“And we will be able to keep them safe,” Jacquelyn adds.

Monty nods. “Yes. No harm will come to them in the Reptile Room. Or the rest of the house, for that matter.” And then his solemn tone vanishes and he claps his hands together, strangely hyperactive for someone so sleep deprived. “I know! We should bake them a cake as a welcome gift.”

And before Gustav can ask why Monty is so hyperactive, Monty rushes into the kitchen. Gustav and Jacquelyn share a puzzled and slightly exasperated look, before following after him. And that is how Gustav and Jacquelyn spend the next four hours baking and icing a coconut cake.

\---

When Monty awakes, he becomes aware of a good thing and a bad thing.

The good thing: Monty had only pleasant dreams last night, with no nightmares to be found.

The bad thing: he has an erection. And given that he is currently sex repulsed, Monty really doesn’t want to masturbate. And so he goes and has a freezing cold shower, wishing he wasn’t so used to this.

He has solved this problem and gotten dressed by the time Gustav awakes. Gustav sits up in bed and smiles. “How are you today, Monty?”

Now, Monty has been in a relationship with Gustav for long enough to know that hiding things from your partner is a bad idea. “To be truthful, I awoke with a bit of a problem—” He gestures towards his groin, his face flushing slightly. “But I sorted it out. To be honest, I am mostly excited about having the Baudelaires coming to live with us.”

Gustav gives him a kiss. “So am I.”

\---

Monty wanders through the Reptile Room, his hands clasped behind his back. The Baudelaire children have been here all day, and are currently asleep in their respective bedrooms, which they have already begun to customise. He and Gustav took the children to see a movie this afternoon, and, whilst everyone is still worried about Count Olaf, he was nowhere to be seen and the children felt safe.

His heart rate is a bit too fast and Monty is certain he is going to have a nightmare tonight, but he actually feels quite optimistic. He and Gustav are still together and going strong, and the Baudelaire children are safe and living with them like a real family, and his mental health is really stable these days.

Yes, life is still difficult and he knows it always will be, but Monty is coping. He is safe. And he is happy.


End file.
